


Patience Is A Virtue

by TheProfoundBlade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affection, Alastair POV, Angst, Demon!Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, One-Shot, Personal letter, Personal note, Torture, s10, s4, s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProfoundBlade/pseuds/TheProfoundBlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alastair writes about his thoughts about patience, beauty, working on and with Dean and his passion for the elder Winchester son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience Is A Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a not-betaed one-shot because I felt like writing as Alastair, just for fun. It's simple, not too big but I hope it's an enjoyable read anyway.

I am a man of reason. A man taking pride in his faith, his work - his art, rather. A man who sees the beauty in calm, in dancing gracefully in the empty spaces between rivers of blood and putrid guts, in creation beauty from blandness and ensuring loyalty towards our Father. All these young demons wish to rush through their new existence, wish to get all they desire at the second they see it and hardly work for it. I cannot understand their desire to run so quickly. The view, as you walk through this dark side of life, is far more beautiful and educational if only you take the time to observe it.

Had I rushed, like all other demons, I would have missed the beauty that was the elder Winchester son. As absolutely blasé his father had been to work on, he was the complete opposite - absolutely exhilarating and interesting. He was quick to fall under my words, far quicker than my blade, weeping deeply of regret, anger and true sorrow. I saw how beautiful it was. I saw how exquisite his existence was, beyond what we truly needed him for at the time. Saw how incredibly potent he was with how deep his self-brought scars were. 

One thing new demons will tell you is that quick is better. Get the information you need, then toss the souls in their cages for the rest of their endless sentences, let them rot on their own. I, however, feel they have no understanding of the true power of taking your time. When I found the well-hidden, but deep, scars on the inside of the Winchester son's wrists, I did not laugh or continue his failed work for him, but harbored the detail close to my heart as I appealed to his deep-seethed anger to his father, knowing how incredibly efficacious this could be for a possible chess-piece on Hell's side of the board.

»Were they because of him?« I would ask him, tenderly brushing a finger over the almost invisible scar. He would protest, the first thousand times, refusing to answer. However, not long before his first »yes«, as he wept so beautifully he exclaimed he had been done and ready to leave his life behind for as long as he could remember. Oh, I remember so clearly how his anguish was so enticing, so easy to mold into something useful for both him and me. I would soothe him, calm him down enough to make him understand that here - under my wing, in Hell - he would have a safe place. A place where he would feel wanted and never left behind, he would be a man with a place, purpose and position, never to be forgotten again. 

How that extremely insignificant father could have neglected such a powerful boy is beyond me, still, to this day.

When he had curled up under my wing and embraced my blade, I would still ask him about his scars occasionally, when they caught in the harsh light near the blood soaked racks. Once again, I would ask, »Were they because of him?« and he would answer »Yes« with no hesitation. He would tell me how he had hated his father since he was a child, how distraught he had felt when him and his kid brother had been left for days at disgusting motel rooms, how deep his self-hatred would go when he had endured yet another beating when the father finally had come back, drunk and frustrated with his failing cause.

»These, my boy,« I would hum to him as he worked for me, »these are not signs of weakness. These are signs of strength, my boy. You drew them and healed. Overcame. Became the most powerful man this Earth will ever see.«  
He did not want to believe my words at first and saw himself as weak every time I would point them out, and as with everything else with this elder Winchester, I kept repeating myself as a broken record until he heard my words as were they the gospel truth. Soon enough he would stand more proud, nod with certainty when I called him magnificent and strong, shout out in glee as I praised his work and effectiveness. 

I saw the Winchester go from a sad sack of sorrow and weakness to the strongest demon we had in our service for centuries. And just as he grew the most strong, the most sublime, the filthy angels came and forced him from my grip. He did not go out without a fight, though, as I taught him well. He knew his place, he knew he was being taken away to somewhere where his true strength and talent would go to waste, would not be appreciated.

I am, as previously stated, a man of reason. For all the pain I felt when they took my boy away, I understood it was for a cause. I understood that Father would have it so, that he wished for me to appreciate the hard work I had done - because one truly only appreciates what one has once it is gone. And when I saw his gorgeous green eyes boil with the same rage and fear as I had seen it so many moons earlier I felt extremely joyous and inspired, knowing that although he had been removed far too early from my tutelage, all his potential was still present and ready to be used. 

And so, now as I sit in the deep dark Pit of Hell again, finally returned from the dark depths where I was sent after that filthy Yellow-Eye spawn did his pet tricks, I remember the beauty of waiting - of being patient. I remember savoring every moment, every step of the way, and finally my waiting is over.

Dean Winchester is a demon once more, and I have word that he will be returning to my Pit soon. 

I am waiting with baited breath, dancing across the beautiful, filthy rivers of blood and guts we once used to skate across together. It will be beautiful. It will be glorious. And once again I will embrace him under my wing, build this broken boy into the most powerful man Hell, Heaven and anything in between has ever seen.

\- A.


End file.
